


Brontide

by Sinistretoile



Series: Partners [8]
Category: British Actor RPF, Jaguar "British Villains" Commercial, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Desk Sex, F/M, Gangsters, Makeup Sex, Minor Character Death, Mob war, Mobsters, Office Sex, Reunion Sex, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Vandalism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-14 00:26:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4543185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sinistretoile/pseuds/Sinistretoile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brontide: n. The low rumble of distant thunder</p><p> </p><p>The Italians hit again. And the war begins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brontide

Amelia stood in front of Murderer's Row with Mick. She looked tiny compared to the big man. Her jaw set and her nostrils flared as she flexed her hands. She looked over the damage done to the vintage posters, the marquee, and the custom red leather benches in the entrance way. She turned to her lover's right hand.  
"Thomas is not to know. You get the leather man onto repairing or replacing the benches and the glazier to replace the glass frames. I'll have Josie call his secretary and find out who reproduced the posters. Call in a couple boys to clean off this graffiti. At least Carrico waited until Thomas had mourned her before pulling this shit."  
"Won't the boss find out anyway? Shouldn't he know?"  
"No! Mick, if Thomas finds out, the streets of London will run red. We will go to war. This-" She gestured to the building over-dramatically. "THIS is desecrating the memory of the person he loved most. Even I won't be able to stop him."  
Mick's frown deepened. He didn't like it but she was right. Thomas loved his grandmother like no other. She'd taught him to be a man, raised him to be like his grandfather. It had only been a month since the funeral. Thomas's grief, though dulled, was still raw and fresh. Carrico knew Thomas would over react to this. "So what do we do?"  
"Thomas is in America for another week. We have ONE WEEK to get this fixed. Media blackout. Not even a police report of the vandalism. Our people in the Scotland Yard will take care of that, but the other media needs greased. Pay who you have to pay to make sure this doesn't hit ANY media. Print, telly or web."  
"Yes, Amelia. What about Mr. Hiddleston?"  
"I'll tell him. I'm staying out at the manor house until Thomas returns from America. I'll-" She took a deep breath as she ran her hands through her hair. "I'll handle it."

The hooded figure swaggered into the macelleria. "Take your hood off, son." The older man behind the counter tapped a sign that said no hats, hoods or masks. The figure walked further in to the shop, ignoring the man. The baton clicked as it was swung to full extension.  
The old man shouted as just the figure smashed the glass of the first case and continued on, swinging the baton from side to side with precision. The old man reached for the hood and the figure whipped around and brought the baton against his wrist. The old man screamed and grabbed his wrist, backing away. He squinted into the hood but the person's face was covered by a bandanna. Before he could back away to go for the cricket bat behind the counter, the figure brought the baton against the man's collarbone. He shouted then dropped to his knees.  
"What do you want!" The figure said nothing as it finished smashing in the cases and coolers, covering the meat and produce and specialty cheeses in broken glass, making them inedible. The figure climbed onto the counter, looked right into the camera and flipped its fingers from under its chin. The old man yanked the figure off the counter and jerked the hood off. Auburn hair flowed free but the face remained covered. The figure headbutted the old man then brought the baton against the side of his head. He dropped the assailant then dropped to the floor. The hooded figure struck the baton through the glass doors then ran out.

Thomas unfolded himself from the back of the Jaguar sedan. He buttoned his jacket against the chill, looking over the club. He smiled at Amelia where she stood in front of the box office. His long legs carried him swiftly over to her, and he pulled her into his arms. "God, I've missed you, ma reine." He kissed her deeply, moving to hold her chin so he could control the kiss.  
"I've missed you too." She beamed up at him. He drew her body against his once more. They closed their eyes and melted into the hug. "Two weeks is far too long."  
"Next time, you'll come with me." He looked up at the poster of his grandmother. His smile slowly faded. "Amelia?"  
"Yes, my darling?"  
"Who changed the poster of my grandmother?"  
Her eyes snapped open. He felt her body tense. His hands clamped on her upper arms like a vise and he snapped her back to arms-length. "Thomas-"  
"Answer me, Amelia!"  
She swallowed. His hands tightened on her. "Thomas, you're hurting me." He shook her then jerked her body against his.  
"Answer me, Amelia."  
"Thomas, I can explain. Just calm down. You. Are. Hurting. Me."  
The whites of her eyes showed fear of him. And hurt, he was hurting her in more ways than just physical. He slowly opened his hands then took a step back. Seeing him like this, she knew she'd made the right choice in hiding it from him. She didn't want to think about what would have happened if he'd seen it. "Your choice, my office or the car." He knew he was over reacting. They both knew but his grief still throbbed like an open wound.  
"Office."  
Thomas adjusted his lapels and walked past her. He stopped the first employee he saw. "Have the posters switched back immediately." He threw open the door to his office then slammed it behind her and her up against it.  
"Mon chevalier, calm down." She reached for his face but he snatched her wrists, pinning them to the door.  
"Why the fuck did you switch Belle's posters? And the reason better be a good one, Amelia."  
Neither one addressed the obvious over reaction. "Carrico vandalized the club while you were gone. It was awful. And I didn't want you to know because I knew this was how you would react. And we'd go to war."  
"How did you hide it?"  
"Media blackout. I told Mick not to tell you."  
"Does Papa know?"  
"Yes, and he agreed with me."  
Thomas's glare relaxed. "What did you tell me the night before the funeral?" His thumbs rubbed the sides of her wrists. "Partners, 100 percent, Amelia."  
"Yes, mon chevalier." He released her wrists then gathered her against his chest. She tried to stop the trembling before he noticed. She failed; he noticed. His face twisted with regret, disgust.  
"I'm sorry." He laid his hand on the back of her head then tipped it back so he could look in her face. "Do you forgive me?"  
"The moment it happened." He kissed her gently. Her arms wound around his shoulders and pressed her body against his. He deepened the kiss and urged her to the desk. Her ass bumped against the edge. He pressed their foreheads together, open mouths a breath apart. He held her throat with one hand, his other bunching up the thigh length skirt to her hip.  
Amelia reached for his belt, gasping as he touched her mound. "Good girl, I love it when you go without knickers." He twisted his hand around to press his thumb to her clit and slip two fingers inside her. "God, I've missed your cunt."  
"Good." His belt gave to her actions. She popped the button of his slacks and slipped her hand into his waistband. "I've missed your cock just as much." He squeezed her throat lightly as her hand squeezed his cock. He pressed his thumb to her chin, breathing heavily.  
Abruptly, Thomas spun her around and bent her over the desk. She braced her hands shoulder width apart, gasping in delighted surprise. He lifted her skirt to expose her ass then grabbed a rough handful, digging his fingertips in then slapped it. She arched her back, offering it up to him. He grabbed her shoulder as he positioned the head of his cock against her. She cried out as he thrust forward into her to the hilt.  
His hand moved from her shoulder to her hair. He set a maddening pace, pounding into her hard. Her hands scrabbled on the desk, knocking things to the floor. He grunted with effort, her shouts of pleasure growing louder. He felt her body tense around him, each stroke of his cock hitting her sweet spot. He pulled her hair hard, bending her backward. His long fingers sought her clit, using her wetness to slick his fingers over the hard little nub. "Oh fuck! Thomas!" Her orgasm ran down the front of his slacks and her thighs.  
Thomas held her by the hair and hip. He kicked the chair back then sat down, dropped was more like it. Amelia literally barked as the movement impaled her on his cock. He pressed his face into her back, his hand left her hip to latch onto her breast. She gripped the arm of the chair. His breath became a pant as she bounced on his cock.  
"Fuck me, ma reine." He groaned. "Oh god, fuck me." His legs began to shake. It wouldn't be long. He wrapped his arms under hers and thrust up into her bounces. "Oh fuck!" Her barking moans answered him. "Oh g- Amelia! Fuck!" His orgasm shot through him. He clamped his hands down on her and held her in place, cumming in hot bursts. Thomas collapsed back in the chair, holding her to his chest. Neither spoke as they caught their breath, their hearts slowing.  
"Carrico is having a poker game tonight. They moved it from the butcher shop to the pizzeria."  
"Why'd they move it?"  
"Macelleria Milano's is closed. Some hooded vandal busted up the glass cases."  
Thomas chuckled and turned her face to his. "I knew I loved you." She grinned a sleepy, satiated grin and turned her body to his. His softening cock slipped out of her.  
"I love you, mon chevalier." He kissed her, his fingertips dancing down her arm.  
"You know what this means."  
"I do."  
"Are you ready for that?"  
Amelia sat up, bracing herself across his lap. "Darling, they fired the first shot. They burned down the casino. They desecrated Belle's memory. Smashing up a butcher shop isn't anything. Insurance will pay and they'll reopen by next summer. If we do nothing, we'll look weak."  
"My Valkyrie."  
"Yours and yours alone." He sat up. His thoughtful eyes searched her face.  
"Then we go to war."

Mossimo Carrico sat at the large round table. He chewed on his cigar then plucked it out of his mouth. He laid down his card and waited for the dealer. His cousin, Vince Milano, sat to his left. He looked like a boiled fish. "Will you stop looking at the door, for fucks sake?"  
"What if-"  
"Vince, you gotta show some balls. The butcher shop was to be expected. I'm surprised the little cunt had it in her."  
"You know for sure it was his broad?"  
"Please. He's out of the fucking country when we hit his club then a red head bashes up the macelleria? Of course, it was her. I underestimated her."  
"You heard what she did to the bloke that messed up her whore in South Hampton, didn't you?"  
Carrico nodded. "That's why we don't rough up her girls. I've got no quarrel with Montgomery and her fish. But if she's gonna toss in with Hiddleston, we'll go for her blackmail circuit."  
"How the hell are we supposed to do that?"  
"Lean on 'em. Convince them not to pay."  
"Moss, we don't know who all she's got dirt on."  
"What are we a bunch of pussies! Find out! Surely, someone in her organization can be bought." He jabbed the cigar back between his fat lips. "Now, shut up and fucking play."  
The game progressed two hands before there was a knock at the door. Carrico and Milano looked around the table. Everyone invited was here. The thug at the door pushed off his stool. He opened the slit and received an ice pick to the eye. He didn't have time to scream before the point drove through his eyeball into his brain. His body slumped back and dropped. All five players stood and drew their concealed pieces.  
A metal cylinder sailed through the slit, spraying smoke. "Everybody down! Go out the front!" They crouched low to the floor and hurried through the smoke to the darkened restaurant. They cautiously checked the deserted street before opening the door. As soon as all five players had exited the pizzeria, three shooters, Thomas, Amelia and Mick, raised up from the other side of the line of cars.  
Shots popped off, killing three of the players. A bullet sang through Milano's rib cage to pierce his lung. Another bullet destroyed Carrico's hand, turning fingers to pulp. A third sailed through his knee and dropped him.  
Thomas pointed the gun at the ground as he came upon Carrico, kicking the Italian's gun away from him. Milano struggled to breathe, flopping on the sidewalk like the boiled fish he resembled. Carrico glared at the Englishman. "I'll fucking kill you, you limey prick!"  
"You wanted a war, Carrico. You've got one." Thomas placed the barrel to Carrico's forehead. "My grandfather gave your grandfather his ring back in the peace after he murdered my mother and father. I think I'll take it back now." He worked the gold ring off the Italian's meaty finger.  
Mick covered Thomas as he backed away. Sirens filled the night as the three of them ran through the streets to the waiting drop car parked three blocks away. Carrico's shrieking vows of vengeance following them into the night. Thomas and Amelia dove into the backseat while Mick sped off.  
"Stay down, boss. Until we've reached Kensington."  
Thomas cupped Amelia's face. His body laid over her for protection. "They know you smashed up the butcher shop. You need more protection."  
"And the girls."  
"After tonight, yes." He kissed her to ease her trembling. "I love you."  
"I love you, Thomas." In for a penny, in for a pound, they'd just declared war.


End file.
